


like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

by blackkat



Series: Feemor prompts [4]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aggressive Adoration, Established Relationship, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27866541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The weight against his side is sun-warm, there are gentle breaths against his collarbone, and Alpha has his blaster resting on his knee, ready to shoot the first idiot who thinks about making a smart comment and waking his Jedi.And if that doesn’t work, the fact that he’s spinning his favorite knife between his fingers should probably get the message across nicely.
Relationships: Alpha-17/Feemor (Star Wars)
Series: Feemor prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941688
Comments: 23
Kudos: 497





	like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

The weight against his side is sun-warm, there are gentle breaths against his collarbone, and Alpha has his blaster resting on his knee, ready to shoot the first idiot who thinks about making a smart comment and waking his Jedi.

And if that doesn’t work, the fact that he’s spinning his favorite knife between his fingers should probably get the message across nicely.

Rex, who was never one of Alpha's trainees, apparently nevertheless has more brains than most, given the way he’s keeping his head down and very determinedly not looking anywhere even close to Alpha, even when Feemor shifts and stirs. Alpha doesn’t bother moving from the chair he claimed, even though it’s probably supposed to belong to the planet’s king; the old bastard can eat bantha shit for all Alpha cares, because it’s a huge, pretentious thing, and just about the only chair in existence that he’s ever found that’s big enough for both him and Feemor to share. And it’s _nice_ , having Feemor curled against his side, legs hooked over one of Alpha's knees, fast asleep like at Alpha's side is the safest place to be in the universe.

Entirely pleased with himself, Alpha curls his arm a little more tightly over Feemor's shoulder, resettling him against his chest, and Feemor hums, drowsy and exhausted and content. It makes Alpha press a lingering kiss to his bright hair, then smooth a thumb over the edge of a sapphire-blue tattoo he can just see through a rip in the shoulder of Feemor's robes. He idly rolls the knife over the top of his hand, rests his cheek against the top of Feemor's head—

With a clatter of entirely unacceptable noise, the door slides open, and Alpha's least favorite trainee ever says loudly, “—get _karked_ , Wolffe, we’re not staging a ground operation just to soothe your ego—”

Rex's head jerks up, horror flashing over his face as he signs _abort abort abort_ with increasing desperation. Alpha knew he liked the little brat for a reason.

“It’s not about my _ego_ , it’s about routing the damn Seps—” Alpha's _other_ least favorite trainee says just as loudly—

Alpha's knife buries itself in the edge of the holotable, two precise centimeters from Cody's hand.

“Voices. _Down_.” Alpha bites out as Cody and Wolffe both freeze, their gazes snapping right to him. Mildly murderous, Alpha scowls at the pair of them, stroking Feemor's shoulder with soothing passes of his knuckles, and _dares_ either brat to test him.

Much more quietly, Cody clears his throat, sidestepping carefully as he eyes the blaster resting on Alpha's knee. “Sorry, sir,” he says, barely audible, and Wolffe swallows, nods, and keeps his damned mouth shut, just the way it should be.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Alpha sinks back into the chair, and when Feemor stirs he immediately turns to resettling him. “Easy,” he says. “Just go back to sleep, you're going to get your idiot self killed one of these days if you keep not sleeping.”

Feemor huffs, but sinks back down, one of his hands skimming Alpha's chest in a clumsy brush that trickles his gratitude and love through Alpha's mind. “Be nice,” he mutters, but his breathing is already evening out again, and Alpha snorts softly, kissing his forehead. It’s only _partially_ because Cody and Wolffe are both staring at him like they’ve never seen a bastard in love before.

“Never,” he says, and catches Feemor's hand in his own.


End file.
